


Head in the Clouds

by craple



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Courtship, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, floki is a terrible friend, lagertha is a hannibal-lecter-come-again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Day #017 – Ragnar Lothbrok is still staring at Athel’s cute perky arse.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head in the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> the obligatory college fic - even though there is already a fic using the same theme in this fandom - i just had to do this x) enjoy!

Athelstan does not know when it started – (“No, _nay_ , I am very positive it began after that bloody difficult exam you worked yourself over, Athel.”) – Ragnar Lothbrok’s sudden attention on him, piercing blue eyes burning holes on the back of his head everywhere he goes; it just _happens_.

Take today, for example. It is just a day like any other, a regular day in Athelstan’s boring regular life. Except it rains like the apocalypse is at bay, and Athelstan is late by seven minutes, forty-eight seconds for his European History class.

Which probably won’t matter much, as Athelstan is rarely late, so surely his professor would understand? The real problem is that he has yet another test today, and the papers he is supposed to hand over on Thursday is not yet finished, a crumpled mess in his clutch.

He considers calling in sick today. Floki has taught him much-needed skills on faking illness, although Athelstan loathes to lie, but it is much better than being humiliated in front of the class by the sour-faced, self-proclaimed ‘Earl’, professor.

A black sleek Camaro pulls over in front of the door of his dormitory, then, and Athelstan nearly drops his six-year old phone when the window is pulled down and Ragnar Lothbrok flashes him a very persuasive grin from the driver seat.

“Need a ride?” Ragnar calls out through the loud sound of crashing thunders.

It takes five seconds for him to respond, a stuttered reply of ‘yes’ and ‘thank yous’ but Ragnar simply waves him off and unlocks the door for him. “I am very sorry,” Athelstan says. “Your seat is completely soaked because of me.”

Even his hopeless curls have flattened against his forehead, his hoodie wet and heavy around his shoulders. Athelstan is glad he forgone any more layers this morning. He turns to Ragnar watching him in amusement on the corner of his eyes – something the man has been doing a lot recently, even in the presence of his goddess-like girlfriend Lagertha – and asks, “Is it okay if I change here?”

The car jerks violently, swivelling almost all the way into the forest surrounding the campus. Athelstan yelps and hangs on to the leather seat while Ragnar tries to get the car back on track.

“Sorry,” Ragnar says. “I think I just killed a cat, or something,” which is ridiculous, since Athelstan did not feel any impact against the car before they nearly-crashed-and-died, but he keeps silent to calm his racing heart. “There’s a plastic bag on the back of your seat, just dump your clothes in there.”

He sounds breathless, for some reasons. Athelstan catalogues Ragnar’s expression and voice and his _everything_ for later to inspect, takes the plastic bag with a murmured ‘thanks’, and changes his clothes.

Ragnar takes his eyes off the road once in a while; looks at Athelstan’s way longer than necessary, shameless as usual. Athelstan is used to it by now, doesn’t comment, simply wonders how in the hell he manages to do that when moments ago he almost killed them both because of – something.

Well, Athelstan thinks, buttoning his plaid. He can always analyse it later.

The car parks, the engine’s turned off, and Athelstan saves his thank you as he follows Ragnar running soundlessly toward their next class.

* * *

_Day #017 – Ragnar Lothbrok is still staring at Athel’s cute perky arse._

Athelstan rips the page off Floki’s notebook and throws it into the nearest bin. Floki honest-to-god _wails_ in response. “There was a sketch of my lovely, lovely Helga on the back of the paper!”

“There was not,” Athelstan counters smoothly, flipping another page of the amazing A Dance with Dragons book and shoves the curly fries into his mouth. Floki huffs and pouts, looking like a childish version of the Norse god Loki – though he supposes, Floki _is_ Loki, a reincarnation of sorts.

He does not believe in that kind of thing, but when it concerns Floki, Athelstan can open his mind wider than the ocean itself and it will not still be enough.

“There could be,” he persists. “And you would be tearing her beautiful face!”

“But there was not. And stop writing that ridiculous ‘observational’ journal of yours. Or better, do continue – as long as you leave my name out of the page.”

Viseryon is described rather stunning, in the book, Athelstan barely pays attention to Floki salting his lunch. He steals a piece of sliced tomato from Floki’s plate and ignores his yelp of mock-anger.

“Athelstan, little priest, you should leave the books behind once a while, get back to the real world. When was the last time you got laid anyway?” _When we got drunk at the end of my sophomore year_ , Athelstan doesn’t say. “Must’ve been a long time ago, aye? Look at Ragnar! What does he lack, that you don’t want him so?”

“He has a girlfriend,” Athelstan says. “And he does not like me, not the way you describe it to be, stop speculating. There is nothing.”

“ _I_ have a girlfriend too! And Torstein still wants to sleep with me – _us_!” Floki whines, childish and loud, attracting the attention of passersby who shoots them a _look_.

Athelstan marks the page he was reading, takes another look at Floki’s notebook, and narrows his eyes at what suspiciously looks like _“Day #022 – Does Ragnar wank to the image of Athelstan???_ ” written on the page.

Floki snatches the book close to his chest.

Athelstan returns to his book.

* * *

Professor Earl introduces him to hell the moment Athelstan arrives in his soaked hoodie and a pair of battered jeans. He is late by fourteen minutes and is reminded throughout the class with a very cutting choice of words that halfway through the lesson, the tips of his ears are burning red from shame and he is so _angry_ –

Think of god, Athelstan thinks. He then proceeds to recite three chapters for an exam he’s having right after this class to drown Earl’s mockery out.

Of course, since his professor happens to be _The_ Professor Earl – properly capitalised and encouraged to be emphasised in the most dramatic fashion possible – the indirect verbal abuse does not last long.

If physical abuse is possible without getting fired, Athelstan is sure Professor Earl would have, judging by the look on his face as he repeats the question Athelstan does not know the answer to.

“Uh,” he is so – damned.

Before he can make a more fool of himself, Ragnar Lothbrok drops his boots-clad feet on the table right beside him. Heavily, carelessly, like he does not give a mind on the punishment of what Earl might do to him next.

Everyone turns to look at the man in horror, Athelstan included.

Fortunately for him, Professor Earl does not spare him a glance for the rest of the class. Ragnar gets off the hook with a reasonable excuse (“My leg was injured, Professor, the doctor told me I have to place it somewhere when the pain arises,”) but Athelstan cannot shake the feeling that he needs to thank the man for what has happened, somehow. Even though Ragnar did not, in fact, do it for him.

Instead, Athelstan leans over to where Ragnar is sitting, places his hand atop his thigh, and kneads the meat beneath his palm firmly. Ragnar sucks a sharp breath and, when the man finally looks his way, Athelstan apologises to him with a muffled sorry and as much regret as he can muster showing in his eyes.

A flash of what Athelstan assumes to be disappointment crosses his feature, but – Ragnar smoothes it back in place, nods at him, before returning to the lecture.

Athelstan feels somewhat like he has missed something important, here.

* * *

_“Day #030 – Ragnar Lothbrok stops pining after our lovely Athel’s precious arse, looking dejected and disappointed and WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE ATHEL I AM LIVING WITH HIM IN THE SAME DORM YOU DO REALISE”_

No, he does not realise or even _know_ of that piece of information. He texts Floki so, receives another text of pure anger minutes later.

* * *

Lagertha – yes, _the_ Lagertha, Ragnar’s Lagertha and the Ice Queen of the Flawless Kingdom – approaches him during lunch, of which he is alone, as Floki is still sulking somewhere concerning his lack of response two nights past.

He is not ashamed to say he nearly faints at the sight of her fury.

Students who sit around him do not even try to make it subtle, the way they run away as quickly as possible, and Athelstan wants to hate them a little for it, he really does, if he does not know how it feels around the Ice Queen when she is angry. Especially when he is on the receiving end of her anger.

It is going to be alright.

Lagertha spots a glinting silver fork nearby. Her eyes positively gleam.

Yes, it has been confirmed. Athelstan is going to die. He is not going to be able to watch the third season of Game of Thrones or the sequel of The Hobbit or even drool at the sight of Robert Downey Jr. He has not even watched _Lincoln_ , for crying out loud, and the Robopocalypse novel he bought for all purposes and intents – which is, obviously _Ben Whishaw_ with – will never be opened forever.

Athelstan sends a quick text of apology to Floki, for the sake of clearing his conscience rather than anything, really.

“You’ve done something,” is the first thing Lagertha says.

Athelstan tries not to look guilty, since he is _not_ guilty, and he has _not_ done something, for the sake of God do not _curse_.

Lagertha narrows her pretty, pretty eyes at him.

(They look blue and green and all the beautiful colours of calmness and serenity and the _sea_.)

“You will fix this.”

It is a stone-cold, I-will-kill-you-should-you-not-comply sort of command. Athelstan is fearful enough of his anatomy that he nods as quickly as he can without damaging his neck.

* * *

From experience, Athelstan knows how it feels to have someone apologising to you even though he or she did not know what he or she had done wrong. It makes him feel more-or-less _terrible_ , and he’d be swearing up and down at their faces if he is not such a devout Christian.

So, not wanting to make things worse than it already is – Athelstan revises.

He revises of the things he has said and done, picking them up by the strands and wondering how it may have hurt Ragnar in any way.

Ragnar, offering him a ride with a genuine charming smile on his face, despite the dark storm happening in the background.

The car swivelling off-track when Athelstan asked whether or not he could change, right in front of him.

Floki, claiming that Ragnar is interested in him – the sexual kind of interest, except he _mopes_ about something Athelstan has done – which means it really is not just a sexual kind of interest.

Athelstan may not be very experienced in dating, or casual dating, or sex or relationship in any kind, but. He is not dumb.

Only, he does not know what to do in a situation like this, where the hottest, definitely taken, gorgeous and charming and positively clever, mischievous guy as a crush on him.

So, turning his laptop on, Athelstan does what Athelstan has done every time he finishes revising: ask Google.

He types _‘what should you do when someone you might-like likes you back but he is taken except his girlfriend sort-of encourages you’_ on Google and waits for its inevitable wisdom of answer.

* * *

_“I ask Google for advice,”_ he begins to type. _“I think I have found the perfect way to apologise and not make it worse.”_ He doesn’t add the _‘like you’_ part, as Floki has never been able to apologise without making things much worse, but he thinks Floki gets it.

He sends the text and is looking through his wardrobe for a decent pair of jeans and a sweater when his phone beeps.

_“yOU ARE THE dumBEST eVAh”_ it reads.

Athelstan neither confirms nor agrees to his statement.

* * *

Floki is not available when Athelstan reaches his dorm. A fact he realises too late when he passed by Torstein’s room to find a silver bin sitting in front of his doorstep.

Athelstan is an _idiot_.

Ragnar opens the door with a scowl. “What do you want?” he demands, grumpily, and he is ten-times scarier than Lagertha on good days. This is not Ragnar’s good day.

It should say something though, that Athelstan does not feel like Ragnar is going to kill him any time soon like Lagertha does.

Squaring his shoulders, Athelstan takes a deep breath – wrong move, abort, _abort_ ; the natural scent of Ragnar’s cologne is filling his nostrils, tell-tale of chocolate reminding Athelstan of a chocolate factory back during an elementary school’s trip and Floki’s methods of coming out of depression – and instead of saying it loud and firm the way he wants, Athelstan stutters.

“Can I, uh, come in?”

Ragnar does not look impressed. “What for?”

Athelstan takes another deep steadying breath. “For, uh, leading you on – sort of? I did not – I did not even know I _was_ until –“do not say Floki, do not say Lagertha, _do not_. “I revised in the library of the, uh, things that have happened.”

He curls his fingers around the collar of his sweater, tugging it down nervously and ignoring the way Ragnar’s eyes seem to focus on his collarbone. “So, I just want to say that I sort-of like you back. Only, uh, I do not understand how this will even _work_ because you have a girlfriend –“

Ragnar kisses him.

Huh.

It tastes like chocolate, the kiss. And Ragnar’s tongue, forcing its way past his lips, only it doesn’t need much forcing really, since the moment Ragnar scratches his nails down the back of Athelstan’s neck and _squeezes_ – the same way Athelstan had, before Ragnar decided to stop with the _not_ -pining – Athelstan whimpers and turns boneless and Ragnar’s arms are around him and bringing him close.

Lagertha is sitting on the couch, when Ragnar manhandles Athelstan into the room. She smirks and watches with a hand between her thighs as Ragnar continues to ravish his mouth until Athelstan _forgets_ everything that is not him.

Well. At least he _did_ mention the taken part. If Ragnar does not care, then why should he?

(He wonders since when he became so selfish.)

* * *

(Floki is actually correct, as this is the first time Ragnar started paying attention to him –

Precisely two months before, Athelstan’s exam result was A- while Ragnar _failed_. For his part, Athelstan did not actually Ragnar’s presence in the room, or anyone else for that matter, as he got up to the professor’s desk and started listing everything that was wrong until Professor Earl gave him A+.

Ragnar and those who got red marks passed after some correction of the mistakes Professor Earl _‘accidentally’_ made.

No one has ever stood up to Professor Earl before – it was simply a surprise, which triggered Ragnar to _watch_ him more closely.

Floki knows this all as he is Floki, and Floki smiles as Ragnar closes the door of their dorm and hangs his own sock at the doorknob as to not let anyone disturb them.

He is, after all, a good friend.)


End file.
